


ain't easily forgot

by tobeconvincedoflove



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (shocking), Blood, Gen, Here we go, Hospitals, Torture, Violence, because it's 11:29 bitches, enjolras is a little shit, happy new year everyone, im bad at titles i have to make one up now, seriously it's pretty graphic so i wouldn't read it if you're squemish about that stuff, that's totally not how you spell it but oh well, this is a weird last fic of 2k14 for me, triumverate formation, um okay real tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:49:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeconvincedoflove/pseuds/tobeconvincedoflove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras needed to pull himself together. Combeferre was bored. And Courfeyrac just really had to pee.</p>
<p>(It’s hard to start a friendship as strong as the triumvirate, but there are many ways to do it. Apparently, one of those is going to the bathroom at exactly the wrong time.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	ain't easily forgot

When Combeferre slipped into the bathroom on the ground floor, the first thing he saw was a student gripping the counter, desperately trying to steady his breathing. He’d heard that AP U.S. History had a test, which would explain it. Those tests were hell on earth. So, he quietly slipped into a stall. (Because that was what he was doing… stalling for time. He’d finished his physics quiz and didn’t want to sit listening to the anxious scratching of pencils and pushing of buttons on the calculators.) 

It was awkward, listening to the unsteady breathing of the other kid, and Combeferre was seconds away from offering help when the he heard the door swing open again. 

“Shit,” the cheerful voice Combeferre knew was Courfeyrac, some loud sophomore, said. “Listen, mate, give me like two seconds to piss then I’ll be out of your way.” Sighing, Combeferre exited the stall, not even pretending that he was doing anything. 

“Are you all right?” he asked the mop of blond curls and rapidly red-ing eyes, and the student nodded. Courfeyrac, having just finished, now moved over to ask a question.

What it was, though, none of them would ever find out. Because the warning bells went on, signaling either a hurricane, fire, or lockdown.

“Um, which one is it?” Courfeyrac’s voice sounded slightly scared, but luckily the blonde kid was starting to pull himself together. 

“Lockdown.” The kid’s voice was hoarse, and his breathing was still sucky, but they had bigger fish to fry right now. 

“Great. Now what the fuck do we do?” Combeferre’s voice was resigned. “It isn’t a drill or they wouldn’t have let us leave in the first place.”

“Do that thing where we hide in the stalls?” 

“There’s only two of them.” 

“Just shut up!” So Courfeyrac and mystery kid hid in one together, clinging to each other to stand upright on the toilet seat, and Combeferre in the one next to them. There were two minutes of silence after the alarm shut off. Terrifying, complete silence. 

Then the door banged open. 

“Please let that be a teacher.” It was a quiet whisper that Combeferre breathed out more than anything. When the stall door opened and Combeferre found himself staring down the barrel of a gun, he knew it wasn’t. 

“I got two more,” a second voice said, as Combeferre was hauled down and out of the stall. “Three’s enough for diplomacy, yeah?” 

“Yeah. Boss said three, didn’t he?” They weren’t even wearing masks. What the fuck was happening? The one holding Combeferre jabbed him in the back with his gun. “Move.” 

“What are you doing? Where are we going?” It was panicky-kid’s voice this time. How the fuck was he so much calmer now, when they were in a fucking hostage situation? 

“Shut up or I’ll bash your head in.” The voice was gruff, and he shook the kid’s arm roughly. 

“Knock ‘em out, anyways. It’ll keep ‘em quiet until the rest of the idiots are out of the school. And make it easier to hide them.” In that moment, the kid stomped on the foot of the guy holding him and Courfeyrac, allowing them to wrench out of his grasp. The kid immediately turned around and tried to punch his captor in the face; the guy was too fast, though, and got the kid’s gut first. Immediately, he crumpled around the fist, and before Courfeyrac could help him, a solid hit to the head had the kid on the floor. 

“Are you two going to do this the nice way or not?” he asked, baring his teeth at Combeferre and Courfeyrac. “My friend over there has a nice rag soaking in drugs; I have a fist.” On the floor, the kid groaned. The man loomed over him, but that was the last thing Combeferre saw before a rag covered his nose right as he was taking a breath. 

****

*

When Enjolras peeled his eyes open, everything was dark. He was in a room that smelt like chemicals, and there was a blindfold over his eyes. Fuck. His head hurt like hell, and his thoughts were muddy.

“What the fuck?” he whimpered, as Enjolras realized his hands were tied behind his back to something. 

“You’re tied to me, idiot,” a voice whispered. 

“And me,” another added, groggily. 

“I don’t know who you are. Are you blindfolded, too?” Enjolras’s voice was not any less hoarse than before, but it was easier to talk. 

“Combeferre,” the voice to his left said. “And no.”

“Courfeyrac,” the one to his right added. “Also no.” 

“Enjolras,” Enjolras greeted, testing out the bindings. “Then why the hell am I?” 

“Probably because you tried to punch one.” Combeferre’s voice was harsh, but then he remembered that would do them no good. “Sorry.” 

“What’s going on?” Courfeyrac turned his head around quickly, trying to discern the voices outside. “What do they want from us?” 

“It’s not us. We’re bargaining chips for something.” Enjolras couldn’t keep his hands from shaking as he said the words. 

“Be quiet.” Combeferre made sure to keep his voice quiet, but the voices were getting louder. He wasn’t just looking out for Enjolras, but if they were found talking it would probably end worse. 

“They need persuasion. Grab the kid with the blindfold and knock the other two out for a bit more.” This voice was not one any of them recognized; it was female. 

“Well, shit.” Enjolras couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of his mouth as the door to whatever closet they were being held in opened. When the two other boys hissed at the sudden onslaught of light, Enjolras knew he was fucked. He’d been the defiant one, so he was the first to be hurt. 

There were hands all over him; untying him from Combeferre and Courfeyrac, retying his hands, and hauling his ass out of the closet. After a bit of movement, Enjolras felt himself forced into a chair, which his hands were then tied to. Great. No one took off the blindfold. 

“Time for a little Skype call with your dear principal,” the female’s voice said, hands digging into Enjolras’s shoulder. Then, the hands were gone and someone was just repeatedly punching Enjolras’s face and his torso. He tried not to grunt or cry out, but it was hard.

“If our demands are not met, we’ll start getting more creative.” Enjolras could barely hear the words over the ringing in his ears as each punch hurt more acutely. There was blood dripping out of his nose and onto his shirt and it was probably coming out of his mouth, too. It was supposed to go numb after a while, yeah? 

As another fist hit his cheek, Enjolras knew that wasn’t going to be true. 

It took another fifteen minutes, and Enjolras was about ready to pass out, but then the same nails that had been digging into his shoulder (he could acutely smell the perfume now) were pulling him back by his hair. “Smile for the police, Connor.” The blood was dripping down the back of his throat and his wrists were raw from his frantic flinches of pain, so he summoned all of his strength and spit upward. 

It hit its mark. 

“You little shit!” There was a harsh push, and the chair Enjolras was in fell over. His head hit the floor with a crack. 

****

*

“They’re going to leave us alone for a while.” Enjolras’s thoughts were jumbled, and he’d been zoning during the other two’s turns on Skype. But they’d kept nudging him, forcing Enjolras to stay awake. Fuck that. He wanted to sleep.

“What happened to you two?” Enjolras was well aware of how slurred the words came out, but he couldn’t be assed to care. 

“Fun with chemicals,” Combeferre spat out. “At least we know we’re in the chem lab.” 

“Almost drowning.” Courfeyrac’s teeth were chattering to his right, and it was keeping Enjolras awake.

“Well, I just got an old-fashioned ass-whooping. I’m sorry.” Enjolras had to spit blood out onto his lap, but he felt bad. Punches weren’t foreign to him; he’d got into so many fist fights. But that kind of torture? It must have sucked. 

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Combeferre said, hissing a little as Enjolras tried to find him in the darkness, realizing they weren’t tied to each other. “It’s going to escalate.” 

“They’re not going to be able to get out. The police have to have the school surrounded.” Courfeyrac put in, shaking. Without thinking, Enjolras, even with his hands tied behind his back, managed to shrug out of his sweatshirt through sheer force of will, and nudged it to the other boy. 

“We’re locked in a goddamn closet. I don’t think we can get out yet. They have to make the first mistake.” 

“They didn’t tie us together.”

“That’s because you have chemical burns, I’m still struggling to breathe, and if Enjolras falls asleep he’ll probably slip into a coma and die.” Courfeyrac’s voice wasn’t harsh, but Enjolras got the picture. 

“As exciting as this conversation is, the coma is looking like a grand option. It’s just like a long nap,” Enjolras got out, but then Combeferre started shaking him. “Got it. I’ll stop trying to sleep.” 

“Why aren’t they bothering us?” Courfeyrac asked, thankfully seeming a little warmer with Enjolras’s sweatshirt. 

“The police are figuring out how to respond to the Skype call.”

“Let it be known that I’m never Skyping again.” There was a weak laugh-cough from Courfeyrac.

“Or going to the bathroom during class.” Combeferre’s voice was light-hearted. 

“Never. Maybe I should just stop take APUSH tests.” Enjolras’s voice cracked. After a few seconds of watching Combeferre struggle to push his glasses up his nose, he turned around and managed it by lifting his arms to do the task, Combeferre making sure Enjolras didn’t accidently poke his eye out. 

“What was up with you in there, anyway? What grade even are you?” Courfeyrac asked, scooting a little bit closer to the other two. 

“I epically fucked up the test. I had no idea what was going on; I definitely didn’t get above a 50. And I’m a junior.” Despite the fact that the fact was probably irrelevant at this point, Enjolras felt his hands start shaking again. 

“So a sophomore, a junior, and a senior are all kidnapped by a creepy drug lord…”

“Never make that joke.” Enjolras got out, swallowing some blood down his throat. 

“What’s going to happen?” Courfeyrac’s voice was barely above a whisper, and that was when the situation crashed back down on the three teenagers. 

“The police will work something out. They can’t keep us forever,” Enjolras reasoned, still trying to stop his nose from bleeding. 

“Do you think they told our parents?” Combeferre asked. 

“My parents don’t have their phones on. They’re in South Africa until tomorrow on business.” Enjolras sounded bitter, but then swallowed harshly. “They’ll figure out how to contact them, right?” 

“My mom’s at work, and I have four little sisters I’m supposed to pick up from school this afternoon. Or, was supposed to.” Now Courfeyrac sounded panicked. “Someone got them, right?”

“My older brother’s coming home from college tonight. ‘Cause of Holiday break. He was going to pick me up from work tonight.” Combeferre just sounded sad. “Someone should have told him, right?” 

After that, no one really felt like talking. 

****

*

They had just taken Enjolras again, and he was being vocal.

“Just keep hurting me. They’re still too hurt to do this,” Enjolras was pleading, but a few sharp sounds that could only be flesh on flesh silenced him. Courfeyrac had no idea why the junior was being so vocal, but he couldn’t deny he was grateful. Drowning had been… no. Courfeyrac wasn’t going to think about it. And if Enjolras wanted to make himself a target… no one would stop him.

“Good for you. Luckily, we were going to hurt you anyway. We just have to wait for our audience.” It was the woman’s voice; Courfeyrac didn’t even want to think about describing her. He also didn’t want to think about how terrifying the voice was for Enjolras, who was still blindfolded. 

It only took a few minutes for the screams to begin. It took almost an hour for the screams to be reduced to low, guttural, animalistic moans. 

“Electricity,” Combeferre muttered, being careful not to move his arms, where the chemical burns were. “Voltage high enough to feel awful, current low enough that he stays awake and alive.” 

“What do you want from us?” Enjolras managed to gasp out, and by peering through the small, slanted air space Courfeyrac could see he was curled up into a ball on the floor. 

“We don’t want anything. Well, not from you. If they send the money, this all ends, Connor.” The lady’s voice retained its smooth silkiness, and Courfeyrac could see the heels as she kneeled next to the blond curls matted with blood. Instinctually, Enjolras turned his head, and even blindfolded, managed to vomit pink-tinged water all over the expensive shoes. 

“He’s such a shit,” Courfeyrac whispered, awe-inspired. 

“If you do that again, I’ll get your parents on the other end with the police and make them watch as I kill you.” It sounded more like a promise than a threat, but Enjolras didn’t shake any more than he already was. 

“They’re not home. Good luck.” The words were ground out between harsh coughs. 

“I’m done for the day. The more time you waste, the increasingly worse of injuries for the boys.” There was the happy beeping of Skype cutting out, and then Enjolras was thrown back into the closet, groaning. 

“Are you okay?” Courfeyrac found himself helping Enjolras sit up. 

“Yeah. Everything kind of burns?” Enjolras trembled under Courfeyrac’s hands. 

“Well, you’re an idiot. Why the fuck would you make yourself a target?” Combeferre was not grateful. He was astounded at the stupidity of the blond, but not thankful. Everyone had to hold their own. Trying to draw more pain wasn’t heroic; it was just dumb. Because they would do what they wanted… it was a shitty, empty gesture. 

“Better to draw it into one person. If shit’s going to go down, might as well make it easier for you two to get out.” Enjolras wasn’t bothered by Combeferre. 

“What about yourself?” 

“I fucked up my chances the moment I tried to punch the first one. They already hate me, and they’re not letting me slip away. Besides, they’ll negotiate at least one of your releases soon. And if my parents aren’t here, there ain’t no way I’m the one getting out.” The logic made a surprising amount of sense, but it was dangerous thinking.

“Well stop it. We can take care of ourselves, and getting yourself fucked up this much isn’t heroic or that bullshit.” This time the words were from Courfeyrac’s mouth. 

“We don’t even know each other. I’ve never seen you before in my life. But I’m not willing to go the ‘every man for himself’ route. _That’s_ stupid.” Enjolras’s voice was firm. 

“Then we look out for each other. That’s the only way we’ll get out of this,” Combeferre decided, and was met with no resistance. “Okay.” 

“So that means you’re still not allowed to sleep,” Courfeyrac translated. 

“Come on. It doesn’t hurt that badly.” Enjolras was too tired not to sleep. But also too scared to sleep. 

“Probably the electrocution.” It was said so casually Enjolras had no choice but to laugh. They were all so fucking calm about everything and it was terrifying. Must be the drugs still in their systems. 

“How are we not flipping shit?” 

“No clue. Let’s hope it doesn’t change.” 

“We’ll see. Good luck tomorrow.” Then the conversation died, each one left to thinking about what was happening on the outside. 

(Enjolras knew his parents weren’t home.)

(Courfeyrac prayed his sisters were okay.)

(Combeferre hoped his parents hadn’t had to watch him cry as they dumped the chemicals on him.) 

****

*

“It’s not so bad.” Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac were left in the closet for the second night.

“Why hasn’t anyone come and got us?” Courfeyrac’s voice was shaking. Today had been mostly more fists, and was a lot more spread out. So they’d talked. About school, about their family, and anything else. Enjolras played violin, and was silently hoping no one would break his fingers. Courfeyrac ran varsity cross country as a sophomore. Combeferre was going to be valedictorian. 

“It’s a tricky situation,” Combeferre got out, one hand on his ribs. They were probably bruised. “I’m worried for tomorrow, though.” 

“At least we’ll be able to know the time,” Enjolras got out, smiling through his bloody teeth. For his part, he’d been quiet today. 

“Because they’ll be hurting one of us every hour.” Courfeyrac sounded exasperated, and he was leaning against the other two. 

“We’ll get out of here tomorrow.” Enjolras sounded positive, wrists awkwardly holding him up despite the bonds. “Shit. My parents will be getting in.” 

“They’re probably already here,” Combeferre said. “They got a hold of them.” 

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing. They’re probably—“ Enjolras didn’t want to think of what hell his parents were putting the police and the school through. 

“They’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.” But none of them could convince themselves, let alone each other. 

****

*

**8:00 am:** Combeferre’s left arm was broken with a hammer. They didn’t bother retying his hands. Then the hammer connected with his hip.

 **9:00 am:** Enjolras feet were burned. He was left to try to crawl (hands still tied behind his back) back to where Combeferre and Courfeyrac were sitting. The prodding of a gun helped the process.

**10:00 am:** Courfeyrac’s ribs were hit repeatedly with a piece of wood. He could barely breathe. No, seriously. 

**11:00 am:**

“This isn’t working!” The lady’s voice screamed frustration, and Enjolras jumped in surprise. Without thinking, Combeferre reached out his good hand to steady the blond. He guessed you couldn’t help caring for someone after hearing their screams of agony. But the panic and dread was building, as it was his turn. And he didn’t want anything else to break. He couldn’t he couldn’t he…

“Do something drastic. Force their hand.” It was a cunning voice, one of the henchmen. “Hurt the wheezing one again.” 

“No! Not Courfeyrac!” Combeferre found himself yelling, and Enjolras joined in. “He can’t! Do anything else!” The words were pouring out of their mouths, but Courfeyrac was dragged before the laptop camera that was a live feed to the police, forced to kneel. They kept protesting, but then hands clamped over their mouths. Combeferre fought, but hands held him in place. The same with Enjolras. 

“Give us half the money, and two of them go free.” The lady’s voice was cold, and she went up to her table of tools herself. The entire time, she had kept her hands clean. She made quick work of choosing a hunting knife, and then delicately pulled the ankles of Courfeyrac’s jeans up. 

Combeferre never wanted to hear those screams come from anyone else again. But his Achilles were slashed and bleeding all over, and there was nothing anyone could do. 

Someone threw him back by Enjolras and Combeferre, who immediately ripped up what was left of his shirt and tied it around the wounds, having Enjolras put pressure on one awkwardly, his good hand doing the other. 

“He’s got to get out here. And I can’t walk. It has to be you,” Enjolras whispered, but Combeferre shook his head. 

“I don’t know if I can, either. My hip…” To be honest, neither Enjolras nor Combeferre really registered the specifics of their pain anymore. Everything just hurt. 

“I can’t carry him. You have the best shot.” With a nod, and trying to hold back the tears, Combeferre nodded. Courfeyrac was moaning softly in pain, and they knew he would go unconscious soon. 

“The money’s outside of the front door. Which two are we sending out?” A henchman announced, and the lady smiled garishly.

“We’re not keeping Courfeyrac. So which one of the two yellers is going to stay with us a bit longer is the question,” the crazy lady said, smiling devilishly. Looking towards the sound of the voice, Enjolras took a deep breath. 

“Me. I’ll stay.” His voice shook, but it left no room for another option. 

“Fair enough. You, pick up the worthless sack of shit and get out of here.” The words were directed at Combeferre. 

“Just a little while longer.” That was all he could tell Enjolras. He didn’t understand how between the night and now he had grown to care so much for both of the boys he was stuck there with, but he thought about Courfeyrac’s little sisters and Enjolras’s parents and he couldn’t think through how much it sucked. But this was the best option. Enjolras would be okay. Right?

“Just go. Get him help.” That was all Combeferre needed to push himself into action.

It was an awkward struggle, compounded by pain, but eventually Combeferre managed to carry Courfeyrac past the two guards at the entrance, and after they got far enough, hands were prying the boy away from Combeferre, and guiding him to a separate stretcher. They were waiting.

“No!” Combeferre cried out as Courfeyrac was wrenched from his arms. The movement hurt his hip and he crumpled to the asphalt, before more hands and soothing voices were lifting him the same way. “You have to go back for Enjolras. You can’t leave him there. You can’t.” 

Combeferre knew he was panicking, but they just took Courfeyrac away and Enjolras was still in danger. They weren’t okay. They weren’t okay. They weren’t—

But then there was the prick of a needle. That led to blackness. 

****

*

There was a lot of yelling. But Enjolras couldn’t think through the agony. They’d broken his fingers. On his left hand. That was his violin hand. Yeah, he’d just black out again.

****

*

When Combeferre opened his eyes, it was to the soft whirs and beeps of machines. The light was rough on his eyelids, and his mouth felt cottony and dry.

“Hey, bud.” It was his brother sitting next to him, offering him a sip of water. “How are you?” Greedily, Combeferre drank through the straw. “Easy, Jack.” 

“Courfeyrac—“ Combeferre started to rasp out, but the words got stuck in his throat. He needed to know that Courfeyrac, that _Enjolras_ was okay. 

“He went into surgery a few hours ago. He’ll be out soon. Just try to relax. They’re going to fix your arm and hip in a little bit.” His brother’s voice was calm, but Combeferre needed to know. “They needed the sedative to wear off first.” Looking down, Combeferre saw that his one arm was wrapped up until where the burns ended, and the other was completely immobilized. And he didn’t want to try to move. 

“What about Enjolras? He was still—“ Combeferre needed to know what was happening. 

“They got him out. He’s on his way here. Now try to rest, Jack.” His brother’s voice was forcibly calm, because he was barely keeping it together. His little brother was bruised and hurt and in so much pain and there was nothing he could do. 

“Is he okay? How are Mom and Dad?” Combeferre’s words were mouthed more than anything, but the nurses were walking in to prep him for the surgery. 

“He’s alive. Mom and Dad are okay… they’re just worried about you.” It was actually much closer to panicked and terrified than anything. He was met by his sobbing father at the airport gate, who had to tell him their mother was at the police station and Jack was being held at school by a drug organization. Nick was ashamed to say that the first thing he said was that he thought it was a joke. 

“You’re lying,” was all Combeferre managed to reply before the nurses surrounded him. Taking that as his cue, Nick Combeferre slowly made his way back to the waiting room, where his parents, Ryan Courfeyrac’s mother, father, and four sisters were sitting. Connor Enjolras’s parents’ flight had been delayed. They were stuck in South Africa until at least tomorrow. 

****

*

“Here’s the deal. We’ll the leave the boy here, with one of us. But you let us leave cleanly, or the one that stays will put a bullet through his skull.” It had been eleven hours since Combeferre and Courfeyrac had left. Enjolras couldn’t really think straight anymore.

They weren’t in the chemistry room. He was hanging by his dislocated shoulders in the gym, unable to put weight on his feet, which were oozing blood from the burns. 

“If you take too long to decide, he’ll die anyway.” The lady, the one he still couldn’t see, gripped his chin with her nails, digging into bruises and making him wince. But he just smiled, before expelling the blood in his mouth onto her. She responded with a punch to the place where she’d put a bullet in his side. But that didn’t compare to the whip marks on his back. Everything hurt. Enjolras didn’t know how much more he could take. He thought he remembered her breaking every finger on one of his hands before tying him up here, but that could have been a hallucination. Eh. It didn’t really matter. 

That was when there were a lot of loud noises. Enjolras let himself doze through it, until there were hands on him again, at the back of his head, and Enjolras jerked instinctively. 

“It’s okay, kid. I’m a police officer; just let me get this off of you and I’ll show you my badge. I swear you’re safe.” Enjolras didn’t recognize the man’s voice, so he just let him finally take off the damn blindfold, and found himself staring at a man in a bullet-proof badge. “See? We’re going to get you down. It’s going to be okay, Connor.” 

“Are they? Are they-“ Enjolras couldn’t finish the question; his throat was too raw from screaming. 

“They’re okay. They’re at the hospital,” the officer assured him as someone worked on slowly lowering Enjolras, the first officer making sure he was laid down gently. “Just try to relax.” Even without the pressure on Enjolras’s shoulders, it was awful moving them enough to cut the binds, finally trying to ease them down to his sides. But that was when the stretcher was wheeled in, and Enjolras tried desperately to sit up. The officer held him down. 

“I can—“ 

“Just try to be calm. They’re not going to want you moving around,” the officer explained, trying to keep the boy from doing more damage to himself. “Especially with that head wound.” 

Suddenly the police officer was gone, and three EMT’s made their way into Enjolras’s line of vision. It was weird, being able to see. 

“On three. One, two, three.” That was all they said before lifting Enjolras carefully onto the stretcher, snapping a neck brace on immediately after while securing him. Then there was the rattling of wheels as they quickly moved Enjolras. The paramedics were talking hurriedly, but Enjolras didn’t understand a word of it. 

“What’s going on?” Enjolras rasped out, aware that his eyes were slipping shut. 

“We’re taking you to the ambulance. We’re trying to figure out how to help you,” one said, their hand finding Enjolras’s. “Try to stay conscious, Connor.” 

“It’s…” Enjolras was too tired to finish what he was thinking, even though the new pressure on his shoulders hurt. A lot. “Stop. Please.” 

“We’ve got to keep you from moving too much, or you’ll hurt your shoulders more,” the same voice explained, as he was transferred into the ambulance. 

“Are Combeferre and Courfeyrac okay?” Enjolras decided to ask another source. He didn’t really trust the police officer, who was probably just trying to keep Enjolras from going ape shit. 

“They’re going to be,” the paramedic said. “They should be out of surgery, and resting. The doctors took care of them.” 

“Is it bad?” Enjolras’s voice was barely a whisper. The paramedic looked like he was about to respond, but then a different one cut him off.

“We need you to answer a few questions for us, Connor.” It was hard to stay awake and try to remember all of the things the lady paramedic was asking, especially when everything kept becoming more and more painful. It got to the point where he couldn’t bite back a moan after a bump in the road. Enjolras would have screamed, but his throat was too destroyed for that. 

“I’m going to give you a shot now, okay? It’ll feel weird, but it should help with the pain.” To be honest, Enjolras didn’t even register the needle. 

“Remember to stay awake. Do you remember when your hand was broken?” It was the voice of the first paramedic.

“I play violin.” It was hard to stop a tear from leaking out. “Is it going to be okay? Will it be different?” 

“I don’t know, Connor.” Enjolras was crying harder now, though he wasn’t exactly sure why it hit him now. The hand had been broken for hours. Playing violin felt like a distant memory, though the last time he touched it was before school only three days ago. 

“Try to stay calm, please—“ one of the other paramedics urged, as they started immobilizing the mangled fingers. 

“We can’t dose him more with the concussion,” one paramedic said. 

“We have to or he’ll injure the rest of him more.” Enjolras was already exhausted from crying, and he could feel his eyelids falling shut. “Or just let him fall asleep.” 

“We shouldn’t—“ the first one argued, but Enjolras just let the noise lull him into the darkness.   
Thankfully, no one stopped him this time.

****

*

“Family of Connor Enjolras?” It had been a long night. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had gotten out of surgery a long time ago, though because of his ribs Courfeyrac was currently on a ventilator, and no one had heard anything about Enjolras since he had been brought in nearly seven hours ago.

“They haven’t made it yet,” Nick Combeferre said, standing up. Currently, his parents were with Combeferre, Courfeyrac’s mother with him. So Nick was in the waiting room with the four little girls. “How did it go?” 

“We’ve decided to hold off on a surgery for his left hand and arm.” The doctor’s voice remained calm. “We need to give his shoulders a chance to heal, and to see if it’s worth it. Right now the limb is immobilized. He has suffered a severe concussion, but there’s no cranial bleeding, which is good. The boy’s feet aren’t in a good state, either, and he has several bruised, two broken, ribs. The wounds on his back have been stitched up and cleaned. He’s unconscious, and will probably stay that way for a while, given the concussion.” 

“How long?” Nick would be lying if he said that he was hoping it would be until the poor kid’s parents got there. 

“Probably between ten and twenty-four hours,” the doctor said. “We can’t let anyone into the room for another hour or so—he’s being situated in a room right now.” 

“A normal ward? Or the ICU?” For the night, the other two were in the ICU. Jack would probably be moved out in the morning, after it was established he was okay after surgery, but it would take Ryan Courfeyrac a while longer.

“ICU. They need to monitor the concussion; he’s in danger of slipping into a coma. They’ll try to wake him at least a little bit every hour.” 

“But I thought you said he was unconscious?” Nick asked. He was mentally storing all of this so he could call Connor’s parents. 

“As a result of the concussion. They’re going to try to get a bit of a response out of him, even if he remains unconscious.” It didn’t make any sense, but that was probably just Nick. 

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said, sitting back down. One of Courfeyrac’s sisters, Ellie, immediately crawled into his lap. 

“I’ll keep you updated.” 

****

*

“Hey, dude.” It was three weeks later, and both Combeferre and Courfeyrac had been released from the hospital. Enjolras had, too, for a short period of time, but he had to go back for surgery on his arm. Thankfully, his shoulders were healing remarkably well, but it would take a miracle (and a fuckton of physical therapy) for Enjolras to play violin near the level he had before.

“Ugh,” Enjolras moaned out in response, still heavily influenced by the anesthetic. Courfeyrac was sitting in his wheelchair, grinning as Enjolras slowly pulled his good(ish… it was still heavily bandaged from the rope abrasions) hand to his face to scrub the sleep from it. For his part, Enjolras was still on crutches because of the burns on his feet, but it didn’t really matter. None of them were in school, so they spent most of it vegging out on someone’s couch. Or in PT. Or just T. Yeah, they would rotate because it felt wrong not being together and sometimes they still didn’t know if the others were okay. 

“Feeling stellar, I see,” Combeferre quipped. Enjolras just groaned again as a hand went to his left shoulder. His arm was elevated, and wrapped up so Enjolras couldn’t move it. “Don’t even think about touching it, or the docs will kill you.” 

“They saved my sorry ass, so I doubt they’ll just kill it.” Enjolras said, laughing a little. 

“Very true,” Courfeyrac conceded. “I am not jealous of you, my friend.” 

“Can you hand me my phone?” Enjolras asked, not wanting to move his shoulder even a bit. “Or just tell me what it says.” 

“Dad: on our way. Text when you’re awake,” Combeferre read, trying not to think about how Enjolras had woken up alone the first time, and the panic it had caused. 

“Cool.” Enjolras was smiling dopily, content to lay against the bed, which had him almost in a sitting position. He didn’t feel like moving, because there was a 100% chance that it would fucking hurt. 

“That’s all you have to say?” Courfeyrac asked. 

“Fuck you, man. I’m doped up,” Enjolras defended himself. 

****

*

“Seriously, how did you guys meet? Were you born together or some crazy travelling pants shit?” Grantaire asked, several years later.

“We met in a bathroom.” 

“Well, that’s got to be a story.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was really rough. Characterization is pretty shitty. Love to know what you think, though, and happy new year!


End file.
